


Below the Surface

by Narnvaeron



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26717083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narnvaeron/pseuds/Narnvaeron
Summary: Just when you thought that waking up in a 12th century England was the worst thing that could ever happen to you, fate somehow manages to prove you that it was barely the tip of the iceberg.
Relationships: Guy of Gisborne/Reader, Guy of Gisborne/You
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

Guy of Gisborne woke up with a kiss.

It was strange to feel soft lips upon his, so warm in a contrast to his own, that for the first moment he was not sure whether it was but another dream. When he slowly opened his eyes, however, the blinding sun was right above his head, preventing him from recognizing the features of a woman leaning over him. Blurry vision allowed him to see only the vague outline of her face—before the burning pain exploded in his head and lungs, brutally bringing his consciousness back to reality.

Immediately, he sat on the hard ground and started violently coughing, the water spilling out of his mouth with an overwhelming feeling of confusion and vulnerability. He could not focus on drawing the sword which surely should be hidden in the sheath by his side, nor could he stand up and protect himself from the intruder. Luck seemed to be on his side that day, because despite of the poor state of his body and soul, he was not attacked and when he finally managed to take the first, deep breath, he has never felt more alive.

His gaze landed upon your frame, now keeping a safe distant of few steps and eyeing him carefully, like a startled yet very curious deer. For a long while, he was speechless, the memories coming back to him with a thrill of realization who he was, where he was and what has he done to end up in a place like this—almost dead by the riverside, his clothes soaked, lungs burning, shoulder-length hair clinging to his cheeks and forehead, his weapon nowhere in the sight. He was exhausted and hungry, as if he had not experience a decent rest for the latest year at least.

And perhaps, he truly did not, the night terrors giving him a lot of sleepless nights.

Suddenly, he wished that you have never kissed him and left him be in the land of the dead, where no demons could crawl into his mind and devour it raw day after day. He missed the blissful indifference, the abyss, which seemed much more pleasant than the Hell he woke up in once again. It was nothing how people imagined it to be, on the contrary, the Hell, his Hell was currently sunny and warm, the birds chirping in the trees, the soft smell of the sun filling the air and the sound of flowing river behind his back.

It was delightful and that was the reason why it hurt him so much.

Meanwhile, you were still staring at him, quiet, wondering whether he wanted to attack you. To be perfectly honest, he looked like that, a man all in black, skin still unhealthy pale due to the temporary lack of oxygen and the glare of bright, blue eyes, which held no mercy. But he did not, instead looking back at you, waiting for you to make the first move—so you did.

“Are you alright?” you asked hesitantly, for a single moment not sure if he could understand you.

His answer proved you wrong and the deep, callous tone of his voice made you even more vigilant.

“I am alive, if that is what you are wondering about.”

“That much I can see.” You nodded, not taking your eyes off him and taking a step back when you watched him stand up.

He was taller than you, his posture intimidating and the threatening, no matter the fact that he held no weapon and barely a quarter of an hour ago he was almost dead in your arms.

“Where is my sword?” It was an order, not a question and you did not have to say anything, since his gaze landed on the ground behind you, his sword resting on the grass clearly untouched.

That would be all when it comes to the gratitude for saving his life, you thought, and before he could close the distance between you two, you drew the sword which happened to be much heavier than you imagined, balanced further from the hilt to give precise cuts. Nevertheless, you firmly grabbed the grip with both hands and took a position which allowed you to easily attack him in any second if he only approached you.

To your surprise, Guy of Gisborne only smiled at your pitiful attempts of using the weapon and raised the open palms in a surrendering manner.

“You better give it back before you hurt yourself, woman,” he started. “Or I will take it from you by the force.”

You only fixed your position, so you would not lose the balance and weighted the sword in your hands, mentally calculating how much strength and time did you need to swift it and give yourself more space. Right now, you regretted deeply taking him out of the river and scolded yourself for not letting him drown.

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

Guy of Gisborne approached you slowly, his right hand still open and now reaching toward you, hoping to receive his property back without a fight. He had no desire to kill you but he was aware that if you denied him for too long, he would eventually have to—and in that moment he unknowingly confirmed your feeling, admitting that, indeed, you should have not saved him.

“Stop!” you warned and he listened to you, noticing the nervousness in your body language and voice. “One step closer and I swear I will kill you.”

“You have never killed a single person in your whole life, woman,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Did I not?” You licked your chapped lips, feeling how dry your tongue has suddenly became.

“You did not, I can tell.”

Automatically you wanted to ask how could he be so sure about it, but decided that it was better to not hear the truth, although you have come to the realization already. He was a murderer, a dangerous criminal.

And to think that just yesterday you were still in your home, cars driving on the streets, smartphone in your hand and the mere thought of 12th century as vague and distant as the dream vanishing from behind the eyelids with the first rays of the awakening sun.

You could not explain what happened to you and the more you digged in a vain hopes of finding the answers, the more disappointed you grew. The small village of Clun was the first place where you had an opportunity to see any living human after heading out of the Sherwood forest—or so it was called by the locals. Truthfully, the whole experience reminded you of some kind of hallucination which never stopped, the way people were dressed and acting seemingly familiar but not in a way which could calm your nerves. On the contrary, the first encounter with a woman who appeared as friendly enough to approach her, proved that your worst predictions were true.

You have left your home and everything you have ever known not only miles but centuries away—somewhere in the future.

The villagers were generous, which surprised you greatly, considering how little did they have. In the small, wooden house with only one hall inside you were hosted like the most expected guest, treated with freshly baked bread and cheese, peas with cabbage and barley beer for dinner. The bulrush on the clay earthen floor was rustling with every step of any of the current residents, the smoke from the stone hearth floating in the air before escaping through the hole in the roof and the overwhelming chaos of the whole situation making you feel uneasy. You noticed how the family was sleeping on the straw mattresses, only a few clay cups and bowls placed by the hearth and the realization of how completely and utterly different it was than what you were used to struck you like a lightning.

They offered you a place on the floor to take a rest before travelling forward—just like you told them—and the lady of the house gave you one of her best yet simple, long dresses in an exchange for a necklace you were wearing. After leaving their house, you mentally noted how many other valuable things you had with yourself, which could be useful in the nearest future to sell either for a food or shelter.

You hoped to find the answers in the exact same place you woke up in and therefore you marched straight back to the Sherwood forest. Remembering the path you took was not an easy task but you managed to eventually reach the place only to find out that there was nothing extraordinary about it. Not a single, fallen leaf was different than all the others, no magical portals in your sight, nor any huts with chicken legs nearby.

Absolutely nothing.

Perhaps you would be able to get any clues if you had your phone with you, to check whether you could still have a signal there or try to call somebody—although you had no idea how to explain the situation you were currently in.

Eventually, you decided to try reaching any town and melt into the crowd until you would find a solution, introducing yourself as a harmless traveller from the lands far away or a pilgrim, considering the fact that the latter one could possibly guarantee you safety. Even mentioning about the future was out of question, the very last thing you wanted to experience next was a trial for being accused of witchcraft or heresy. No matter how ridiculous it was right now, you had to stay calm and think logically about the solution for there surely must have been one.

You stopped the journey through the forest while approaching a steady river, its bottom visible through the crystal clear water. Although you were thirsty, you did not take a single sip, aware of the amount of illnesses you could catch after doing so and in the end only washed your face and nape to cool the heated skin. If it was a trip like that in your times, you would surely put on more comfortable shoes, the thin leather rubbing your left ankle painfully.

Sitting at the riverside, you suddenly heard a distant, bloodcurdling horse neighing and the sound immediately caused you to stand up and grab the long stick you were carrying with yourself as a support for the tired legs—and an eventual weapon. Soon, your sight landed upon the poor animal, trying to get out of the river and succeeding at the opposite riverside before galloping away between the bushes. Only then you saw the broken pieces of wood floating with the stream, alongside the single waggon wheel, a bags full of something apparently light—and a body.

The body of a man who could be dead by now, since you did not see him move, allowing the river to take him wherever it pleased. There must have been an accident nearby, maybe the bridge has fallen down and he did not manage to escape, which made you wonder whether he could be hurt.

And if he could help you after hearing that you have saved his life.

You thought of yourself as selfish and damned, when you went into the water, the low temperature making your feet stiffen. Still, you did not withdrew, carefully marching on the bottom and avoiding the slick stones covered with algae, until you could catch the man by the sleeve and pull him back to the dry land. The task became much harder when there was no longer a water on which his body could float, so you had to use your own strength to get him to safety. Placing his head upon the small stones covering the shore, you moved the dark hair out of his face and immediately checked for the pulse and breathe.

Only to find none.

Performing a CPR was much harder when you had to deal with the possibility of a person actually dying on you but you did not give up. It took you tree whole rounds of compressions and breathes and your arms were growing numb, until he finally woke up, his eyes shooting open in the exact same moment when you pressed your lips against his for the fourth time.

And now, you had to somehow protect yourself from the murderer you have brought back to life, your hopes for the help disappearing into thin air.

“Give it back,” Guy of Gisborne growled, visibly losing his patience and all you could do was to take another step back and a quick peek over the shoulder, considering your chances in running away and saving your life.

Which happened to be a mistake he was waiting for. When you looked back at him, he was already in front of you, closing the distance in a swift jump and grabbing your wrist in an attempt to take his property back. His grip was strong, making you wince in pain and involuntarily try to get away from him, only to realize that he had no intention of letting you go.

“Not so feisty now, are we?” he teased and forced you to loosen your fingers around the hilt of the sword, which, to your despair, he took back.

He was going to kill you, right now and there and if you have ever imagined the way you would eventually go, it certainly was nowhere even close to the possibility of being murdered by some medieval criminal. It must have been some kind of twisted dream and all you had to do was to finally wake up.

However, the pain in your wrist was enough to prove you that you would also clearly feel the sword piercing your skin but just when he took a step back and swung his arm, ready to cut you, he suddenly freezed. And then, you did, too, because of the sounds coming from the depths of the forest.

Turning to your right, you saw a group of men in chainmails, the helmets protecting their heads and the clinging of the metal pieces of their weaponry against each other causing a bile of fear to rose in your throat. They must have been chasing you or the man you have accidentally saved, since they did not seem surprised about the presence of neither of you. On the contrary, both the people and their swords were already prepared to make sure that this time, the river would take you down also.

Panic exploded in your mind with a bright whiteness, making it impossible to move even an inch, not to mention running for your life. You did not care for shelter nor company, at that moment all that was important was you getting out of there in one piece—but how were you going to do that?

One of the armoured men said something, which you did not understand, too lost in desperate thoughts of escape and when you did not react, he aimed the tip of his sword at you and repeated something about Sheriff’s orders. The grip of your wrist loosened and Guy of Gisborne moved back from you, slowly and carefully, with his chin high.

Preparing to attack.

That is, when the conclusion shocked you. There was a small bag under your skirts, the one the lady of the house in Clun gave to you to keep the very few stuff you found by yourself after waking up in the middle of an unknown forest. There was a pack of tissues from your belongings, a broken kaychain, a used ticket and—the most important thing—a pepper spray. If you were lucky enough, you should manage to get it before the sword would reach you and then use it to your own advantage. The only other option was to wait for the turn of events and hope that you would be spared, and so, fighting for your life seemed like much more reasonable solution.

Guy of Gisborne weighted his sword in the hand, waiting for a perfect moment to strike but when one of the knights approached you, your instincts made you back away and swiftly reach to the bag to grab the small bottle. Just when you were about to pull it out, two swords collided nearby and you realized that it was the man you saved who defended you from getting decapitated. Without much thinking, you firmly held the cane and aimed it at your opponent, using your free hand to grab Guy by the sleeve, step in front of him to prevent him from walking into the field of fire and then pushed the button.

Bright orange spray was painted across the man’s face, reaching his eyes and nose and leaving stains on the helmet before you immediately directed the stream to the next one who was approaching you ready to attack. The third one, drawing his sword already stopped in the midstride, his face twisting with terror as he heard his companions’ bloodcurdling screams of fear, pain and, most likely, confusion.

Guy of Gisborne, on the other hand, watched this grotesque show with eyes wide open, observed when the ones who were attacked by you fell on their knees and took off the helmets, desperately wiping their faces off and trying to get to the river behind your back. Surely, he would enjoy this peculiar situation much more if he would not notice the rest of the guard being clearly so frightened that they decided to run back to the castle and perhaps share the news about the real witch in the Sherwood forest. He, however, was not afraid of your tricks but rather wary of the consequences of your actions and so, he grabbed your arm and rushed to the opposite direction, pulling you after him to a place where you would be both safe from the guards’ eyes.

For now.


	2. Chapter 2

You should have not done that.

For the rest of the day, the same phrase kept repeating in your mind, reminding you of a monstrous mistake you have made. You might have saved both your and—as you have learned—Sir Guy of Gisborne’s lives but it did not change the fact that the price for such an act could be high. Your first and only rule was to not draw attention to yourself and somehow you managed to break it within the first day, revealing yourself either as a witch or some kind of warrior.

You definitely should have not done that.

Guy of Gisborne, the man who apparently tried to murder you in one moment and then helped you to escape the guards in the next one, led you to the depth of the forest. It certainly was not the best company you wished for but it was better than none, especially since the feud between you two seemed to be instantly forgotten. The enemy of an enemy is a friend, or so they told.

Sitting on the mossy ground in the heart of the Sherwood forest, you were staring blankly at the small campfire in front of you, watching the flames dance around he dry sticks and pieces of wood you managed to find, while Guy was preparing a safe place to spend the night by the big stone, which would protect you both from the wind and the intruders. When you came back to him with the best wood you could find, you realized that he had pushed a nearby trunk to fence your makeshift shelter from the west side, too.

“Put it there,” he commanded and you did as he told you, not wanting to argue with a man who seemed to not only be stronger and better equipped than you, but also knew how to survive in this place.

Meaning the 12th century rather than the forest, because somehow, the trees surrounding you were the only thing you could call familiar. It did not matter whether it was 21st or 1st century, the woods were still the same, the leaves under your boots crunching, the woodpeckers looking for lunch in the high branches. It was almost normal.

The night, however, brought the new fears to your heart, as the landscape around you was no longer as friendly as during the day. Nor was Guy of Gisborne, in some twisted way fitting perfectly into the dark surroundings, partly because of the black clothes, partly because of the messy hair and equivalent attitude.

You jolted when the sudden hooting of an owl echoed nearby. You were glad that Guy of Gisborne knew how to set a fire, it made you feel a little bit more comfortable, although the cool air was brushing against your bare back and the thrill of fear tickling your spine with its icy fingers.

“What was that?” he finally asked, sitting next to you and resting his back against the rock.

Thankfully, you knew that this question will pop up sooner or later and prepared the answer with an additional plan on what to do, if he would like to know more. You did not need any more trouble, especially not with your current friend.

“My weapon,” you told him, grabbing the long stick and pushing its tip to the campfire until it lightened with a tiny flame. “My father gave it to me after coming back from the Ayyubid Empire.”

“A Saracen craft, then?”

“Indeed.” You nodded, apparently, you were good enough liar to make him believe you or so you hoped.

“Show me.”

Cold sweat rolled over your temple and you pretended to adjust your hair to wipe it off. Naturally, you knew that he might want a presentation in more peaceful circumstances but you simply did not want to give him an opportunity to touch anything which was coming from your times. What if it could have consequences in the future? What if you would have never been born?

“It won’t work for anyone else but me,” you informed him. “It has been crafted in a way where only the owner can use it properly.” Like a fountain pen, you thought but bit your tongue.

“I do not wish to kill you just yet.”

Just yet.

“It is not a weapon made to kill but to defence.”

“It seemed as if they were going to die in every minute,” Guy of Gisborne smiled at you and the cruel amusement in his voice made you hope that you won’t be needing too much sleep this night, not with him nearby.

“It works like that,” you agreed. “But it does not kill. I use it only when I have to make a distance between me and the attacker, to give myself time to flee.”

“That is not very honourable.”

“Being dead is even less honourable.”

He chuckled, for the first time not in the vicious way but rather out of a clear joy, apparently liking your joke.

“What happened to you?” You decided to get your chance, since you managed to boost his mood at least a little, hoping that he won’t mind changing the subject. “Before I found you.”

In an instant, his expression darkened, and you bit your lip, not sure if you wanted to hear an answer anymore.

“I was chased,” he confessed. “The bridge was the only opportunity to lose them so I took it.”

You nodded slowly, wary to not cross-question him. Still, you hoped that he would eventually thank you for saving his life.

Another sound echoed somewhere ahead of you, far in the bushes, and the fact that you could not recognize and name its source was making you shiver. It did not matter what was going to happen tomorrow, until then you had to stick close to this man even if it was the last thing you would ever do.

“You kissed me.” His voice was barely a hoarse whisper, but there was no emotions in it, rather the simple stating the fact.

Those were one of the very few words you did not prepare to hear and so, your mind got completely blank. You had to improvise.

“I am sorry, I…” you hesitated, looking for a good words to explain the situation. “I just wanted to help you.”

“Why?”

“Because you were in need.”

“Terrible decision, really. You do not know who I am.”

“Well, if I knew that you wanted to kill me, I would think it thoroughly. At least twice.”

Guy of Gisborne smiled at you. Perhaps it was this whole situation which amused him, or maybe the fact that he was feeling the cold breath of death upon his nape barely few hours ago and yet, he was still there. He could not decide whether to be grateful of furious.

For the whole night, neither of you could sleep. You—cautious about anything bad what could happen to you if you only let your guard down and Guy—dwelling into the chaos of his own thoughts. This whole situation was unexpected, to say the least, but maybe that was exactly what he needed. Something fresh and different than his hopeless position regarding the new Sheriff of Nottingham, his two-faced murderer sister and the love of his life being put in the grave by his own hands.

For the latest months he was trapped in a nightmare, his mind in a constant state of stagnation, longing for something he could not achieve no matter how hard he tried, missing the past he destroyed and regretting, so deeply regretting that he was not able to change the time. He was already dead and it was Hell but somehow, for the first time in many years, there was a single while in which he believed that it was not his destination, to be damned for the whole eternity and suffering for the crimes he committed. Just when he thought that the end was finally there, swallowing him whole, he suddenly woke up and saw your face, felt your lips upon his.

It was the awakening he wished for and it remained as such until he remembered where he was and what was going to happen if the Isabella’s guards will catch him.

“What are you planning to do now?” you asked when the first rays of the sun were painting the sky in pale grays. You were worried that if your paths will part, you will be left alone again, not only harmless but also having to avoid the guards who will want to guillotine you.

Or, most likely, hang, since it was not 18th century yet. It was getting more and more confusing.

“This is none of your concern.”

You frowned and supported your weight on the elbows, looking at Guy who was resting few steps far from you with his eyes closed but mind apparently wide awake.

“I saved your life,” you reminded him.

“Only to use is as an excuse to bother me? Be thankful that you are not the one who needs saving now, woman.”

You pursed your lips.

Maybe it was better to let him go, at least one problem less on your shoulders. You were smart, after all, you could surely figure it out by yourself. Or perhaps, finding a so-called witch was not such a bad idea, since she could be the only one to actually believe you… or send you straight at the stake.

You were going to have a headache.

“How far is it to the nearest town?” you continued, hoping to receive at least some useful tips.

Guy of Gisborne opened one eye and peeked at you sceptically.

“You are not as foolish as to go to the town and give yourself up to the Sheriff, are you?”

“Of course not. I am simply trying to make a reconnaissance.”

“You are not from out here,” he stated all of a sudden.

“No, I am not. And what exactly gave me away?”

“Your accent, your attitude, your face, your lack of even remote self-preservation instinct. You appear out of nowhere and kiss me back to life.”

You were just opening your mouth to disagree but noticed how the corners of his lips turned up. Guy of Gisborne seemed to be in a good mood, apparently content enough to tease you. That was something new.

The moment of serenity was brutally interrupted by the shamefully loud rumbling coming from your empty stomach and you quickly crossed the arms against your chest, as if it was going to prevent it from making further noises. You have not eaten since you left Clun village last afternoon and both that and the sleepless night was not making it easy for you. How could you be all clever and ready to defend yourself when you were feeling more and more tired with every passing hour?

You stood up and brushed off the leaves from your dress.

“Where do you think you are going?” Guy asked, although the tone of his voice made it sound more like an irritated growl.

“To take a piss in solitude. Now, if you will excuse me, sir.”

“Watch out for the ticks and mosquitos. And your tongue because the guards are not the only ones who would gladly cut it off.”

You did not say any remark, deciding that it would be safer to not argue with him—especially not with a full bladder. Wandering far enough so you were sure that he would not peep on you, you looked around the forest, hoping to find a blackberry or raspberry bush, maybe even blueberries, although it was still not their time of the year. Fruits seemed like the most exquisite meal now, so after spotting no signs of it, you lowered your standards and looked for the sorrel and clover. Acorns, maybe? The longer you walked, the more you realized that hunger was not your only problem, but the thirst was becoming unbearable.

Eventually, you came back to your simple camp with an empty hands and dizzy mind only to find out that Guy of Gisborne was gone. There was no sight of his sword either which made you exhale deeply, relieved that you were still hiding your belongings in the bag under the skirts because otherwise, you would never see them again. In the next moment, however, the terrifying conclusion loomed over your mind like a heavy, storm clouds.

“I am so going to die here…”


	3. Chapter 3

Nottingham castle was way more impressive than you imagined it to be. Even from the peak of the hill you managed to climb on, you could spot its enormous, regular shape looming at the horizon, and therefore choose the right way through the Sherwood forest to finally reach the civilization. You were way too tired to spend more time in the woods all alone, you could not find any edible plants and hunting was completely out of question, moreover, you were still not convinced about the sources of water and you needed to take a nap to regain your strength. Naturally, your plan did not include getting caught by the guards and you simply hoped that you will manage to melt into the crowd once crossing the gates. You had to try at least, otherwise you could die of exhaustion.

The closer you got, the sun seemed to be shining more and more brightly, as if it wanted to make the whole task even more difficult than it already was. Blinding light from above heated your skin and head, causing you to sweat and curse under your breath for whatever power brought you to this place. Was it some kind of curse? What did you do to deserve such a punishment?

Eventually, you slowed down when reaching the bridge leading to the main gate of the castle and looked around, curiously observing the way people looked like. Thankfully, you were not drawing any attention to yourself, dressed in simple clothes and your dirty hair and face proving that you were certainly one of the working people. If you suddenly got a stroke, there was a huge chance that nobody would even notice that and for once, you were quite glad about it for it meant that becoming invisible would be much easier than you thought.

You stopped once again when your gaze landed on the guards watching the gates and interviewing everyone who wanted to get inside of the castle. Gulping, you carefully observed and listened to how the others acted and what did they do, wanting to simply repeat their actions when it would be your turn. But first, you messed your hair a little bit more, not wishing to be recognized just yet.

Approaching the guard with a loud beating heart, you barely understood what did he told you, the nerves apparently eating you alive and the possibility of getting arrested and killed closer than ever before. Luckily, none of them recognized your face but what made you speechless for a while was the fact that they demanded a fee for passing the gate.

You did not expect that and you immediately regretted that during the last day in your home, you did not wear every single piece of jewelry you could carry. It would make you look like a Christmas tree but at least you would have a lot of goods to exchange now. Hesitantly, you offered to give them your bracelet and sighed with relief when they let you in. Apparently the news about your attack in the woods still not reached the Sheriff or perhaps he still did not give an order to arrest you—either way, luck was on your side once again and you did not want to question it.

It must have been the market day when you wandered on the main courtyard and spotted various stands full of different products, the crowd marching in between them, chatting and shouting, buying, selling and reviewing. Contrary to what you expected, it was not as dirty nor stinky as you imagined; people paying a lot of attention to their stands and the way their goods were exposed, hoping to lure as many clients as possible. In the first part of the market, you saw mostly the bakers, the different shapes, sizes and colours of bread causing your mouth to water. You would be willing to give up a lot just to take a bite through the crunchy skin and taste the soft baking but unfortunately, you were growing thin of resources. In your hidden bag you had only a pair of earrings and you knew better than to spend them of the very first thing which caught your eye—you had to be careful and prudent if you wanted to stay alive.

Behind the bakers, you walked next to the stands full of various fruits, vegetables and herbs and you stopped in front of them for a longer while, surprised by some of the products, apparently looking completely different than the ones you remembered. You did not expect a simple carrot to have so many various colours and shapes! It made you wonder how many other things would eventually manage to shock you.

You missed the stands with meats and fishes, not really wanting to spend too much time smelling the very peculiar odour and in the end, you found yourself observing the colourful fabrics, small bottles of perfumes, tools and decorations. Completely lost in the thoughts, admiring the variety of everything which surrounded you in this odd world, you almost forgot about the hunger. Somewhere in the distance you heard the horse’s hooves on the ground, the children laughing and playing at some game, and the sounds of livestock on sale. Naturally, it was hot and chaotic, but still it was nowhere near as bad as you thought.

Thank goodness, nothing like in the Monty Python.

Now, that you looked around for some time, you had to think of a plan. You managed to get into the town but it was not the end of your problems for you could not simply stay on the streets. You had to find a shelter and buy some food, since although you felt the urge to simply hide the small loaf under your skirts, having your hand cut off was the last thing you wanted to experience. Cruel or not, the brutal law certainly managed to make you rethink your choices.

It was afternoon when you finally decided to purchase a small loaf of bread—or so you thought, because apparently there was only one clock in the whole castle, the heavy, stone solar one placed in the middle of the courtyard. Observing your surroundings, paying attention to even the tiniest details, you realized how it was precisely connected to the time of church bells echoing and you took a mental note to pay more attention to them, since time seemed to not have such a significant meaning as it did in the 21st century. On the contrary, people were never in a hurry, simply doing their everyday chores and it was quite different from the ubiquitous rat race you remembered.

Walking out of the market area after leaving both of your earrings with the baker, gaining a delicious purchase and the heavy feeling of loss in your chest, you found yourself staring at the beggars, the amount of them absolutely overwhelming. The poorest of Nottingham were men, women and children, homeless and starving, reaching their hands toward you and your loaf of bread and then coming back to wait by the doors of houses of the townsmen, hoping for them to finish eating dinner so they could get the leftovers.

The sight was heart-breaking, but it did not took you a lot of time to realize that if you won’t eventually find a way back to home, you would most likely end up among them. The vision did not motivate you in the slightest and you decided to sit on the bench to eat few bites of bread before heading forward. Panic would bring you nothing, only calm and collected thinking was your chance and you took few deep breaths to soothe your nerves. Surely someone must have noticed your absence and they were looking for you, it was only the matter of time when they will find you and take you back… with what? Time machine?

You wanted to scream. It must have been a bad dream, the one you would soon wake up from, it was just too ridiculous to be real.

Sighing painfully, you looked around, hoping to find an inspiration in your sight. Considering the fact that it was market day, the merchants must have driven a long ways to sell their products and it meant that they were currently occupying free rooms in taverns or households for some price. It was a perfect opportunity for you to say that you were one of them and rent a bed or at least a place on the floor where you could rest without worrying of being assaulted or robbed. The only problem was, you had no more resources to do so and no valuable things to offer in exchange.

All you had was your wit and this shitty reality show you were stuck in.

“Good evening, sir,” you started after approaching the bar in one of the taverns. “Do you happen to still have a spare room or place for tonight?”

Barman looked at you from under his thick, messy eyebrows. It was a miracle that he could even see you from behind them.

“Only two left. You take it?”

“I would love to,” you forced a smile, thinking that this task would be way much easier if you were a good flirt or at least more charming and less tired. “There is a single ‘but’, though, and to save your time I will go straight to the point. I have no money to pay for it, all I can offer is my help behind the bar and in the kitchen, and I can do everything. I will clean this place that the walls will be crystal white, even though it is wood. I can serve food and drinks, too, just please, rent me the room and I will stay there to work for however long you want me to.”

Goodness, his eyebrows were so distracting, like a huge caterpillars. Still, you managed to say everything you wanted, the whole phrase being repeated by you in few different places before, where it was denied. You could not lose hope, not when you were so close to achieving your goal and especially not since the night fell upon the town some time ago.

The man kept frowning and his unpleasant expression made it hard for you understand when he finally said:

“Alright.”

“Alright…?”

“Alright. Did I stutter, woman? Now, grab the apron and get to work. Emma will prepare the room on the first floor.”

You would never believe that you would ever be so excited to wipe the stains of beer and wine from the floors and yet, there you were, working on your knees between the tables and thinking about how today you finally found something to be positive about. After you would finish, there will be a bed waiting for you, a peace and quiet—and you still had some bread with you to eat! Could it be better?

Contrary to what you expected, Emma was nowhere near the quiet worker of the tavern, quite the opposite, her voice was loud and harsh, cutting the air like a whip when she was shouting for the next meals to be served from the kitchen. It was surprising how the man with big eyebrows, apparently her husband, must have been the calm one in this relationship, patiently enduring her loud and somehow crude behaviour. However, you had no doubt that she must have been respected in this place for every man who crossed the threshold was slightly bowing to her, hat off.

There was a huge possibility that if they did not, she could spit in their beer.

Cleaning the floor, you felt your arms growing numb but did not stop, reminding yourself about the eventual prize—and partly being afraid to anger Emma. There was more and more customers with every passing hour and soon, the whole hall was full of people, merchants speaking in various languages, tourists travelling to Nottingham for the market day and residents who were out for some ale and discreet hazard.

Crawling on your knees under another table, the one placed at the end of the hall, you found a particularly stubborn stain which took you more time to wipe off. When you were almost done, you felt the nearby chair being pulled and then another client sat down with a quiet sigh, his long legs stretching right next to you and almost kicking you in a process. Clearly he must have not noticed you but regarding current circumstances, you considered it as your advantage and eventually swallowed the pride.

Grabbing the dirty cloth, you went out from under the table and put it in the bucket full of water, then straightened your aching back and just when you were grabbing the handle to move forward with your work, you noticed a familiar sight in the corner of your eye.

The new customer, the one who accidentally almost kicked you.

You knew him.


End file.
